People Will Say We're In Love
by Gabi217
Summary: Oneshot. Short, cute fic written from Ginny's view [sort of.] Despite his actions, no matter what people said, they were NOT in love.


**People Will Say We're In Love**

**By**: me! Bwahaha.

**Disclaimer: HP belongs to Jo and her boys at Warner. The prompt for this one-shot belongs to Oklahoma's 'People Will Say We're In Love.'**

She was tired of the rumors that occurred just by glancing sideways at him during class. She hated how her classmates quieted when she walked into rooms, turning away from her bashfully as they changed subjects. People were getting ideas, crazy ideas, and it was all his fault. She wanted to pull him aside, to lecture him; she wanted to shake her finger at him when he looked at her, to disprove their insane theories. Although, when it came down to just the two of them in a deserted corridor, she couldn't find the heart to scold him. It wasn't in her to be cruel to a person once they let her in.

Even so, she hated the holidays because of the gift throwing. She didn't much like being showered with rose petals on Valentine's Day; she also didn't much like the fact that, when her parents came one evening during the Christmas hols, he had called them 'ma'am' and 'sir' in passing. It irked her deeply; most of all, it kept people whispering behind their palms, eyes sliding to her. Although he made her happy, it was exasperating; he truly cared, in some deep secret way, that only showed when he agreed with her in a truly propelling debate or cracked a grin at her bad jokes. It was what held her down, and it was what it was, but no matter what, they were not in love.

There were times when it was just them in a room surrounded by inconspicuous people that he would let her gaze hold his for moments at a time. She would hold her breath, at these moments, and let it out when he turned away, in either a sigh or gasp, she couldn't tell. She would let her mind be corrupted and daydream about the color of his eyes, how deep and mesmerizing they were. There were few times that she could look into them and see a deep happiness, a resounding joy that she thought she only had in herself. It was times like those that made her wonder if she was only seeing herself, or if she was really, in some way, a part of him. However, no matter what, she would insist, they were not in love.

It was when she was digging through his things one lazy afternoon that she found all her letters to him. She found all her notes and silly relics of their past; she found menus from the restaurants they visited, ribbons that had escaped her hair on their adventurous afternoons, mittens she had worn in the winter, dried roses she had sent him at Valentine's day. She'd even found her Gryffindor scarf hidden at the very back of his sock drawer, balled up in the corner. Although this was shocking, she held firm in her thoughts. No, they were not in love.

On their Hogsmeade weekends, he would touch her face in private and tell her how amazing she was. How, although she was a Weasley at birth, she must be destined for something else with her grace; she would snort and push his hand away, only to be drawn back, as always. He could never stay mad at her, either; their fights were short and meaningless, filled with regret at time lost. He abandoned his façade when he was with her; he would be boyish and young on their late night excursions in the rain or to the kitchens, like a child on vacation. He would hold her hand and smile and laugh, and she became charmed by this new side of him. Nevertheless, she'd tell her classmates the same thing every night. They were not, in any way, in love.

Sometimes, she was nearly swayed. The heart was a fickle thing, after all, but said heart still jumped when she would be jerked from hallways full of students into dark and hidden alcoves, brought to his broad chest and mercury eyes. It was times like these that she never wanted to leave; there, hidden in plain sight, he could hold her hand and keep her there until time ran out. To hold her hand was an incredible gesture; it was strong and secure, his fingers between her, as if promising to always protect her. She would shake her head and laugh - it was so _silly_ to think of it that way, that he would always be there. She still stood there, though, day after day, and when she escaped from his grasp, flung back into a throng of schoolmates red-faced and glassy eyed, she would tell them, "We are not in love."

She was amazed that he would leave his room in the middle of the night to come get her. He would sneak her out the doors and walk with her across the Pitch, singing quiet lullabies to her as they lay in the cool grass. They would talk quietly and stare at the deep night sky, about families and trends, school and love. When the sun peaked above the trees, she would roll to his side and rest her chin on his chest, and smile; he would touch her face, twirl her hair around his finger, and kiss her forehead. Of course, that didn't mean anything. When they would return to their dorms as their dorm mates awoke, she would sit and sigh; they were not in love.

Although, she found herself constantly thinking of him. It was becoming more open, these last few weeks; the months turned and they became less careful about their alcoves; she would return to her room tired and grinning, lips red and eyes sparkling. It was only the times that she sat alone with him, staring into a fire in the middle of the night, that she let herself go, just so. She would turn her face up to his and he would kiss her, and in that little space between their lips, those few centimeters, she would tilt her head and let her guard down, just enough for him to smile.

Okay. _Maybe_ they were in love.

Why do they think up stories that link my name with yours?  
Why do the neighbors chatter all day, behind their doors?  
I know a way to prove what they say is quite untrue.  
Here is the gist, a practical list of "don'ts" for you.  
Don't throw bouquets at me  
Don't please my folks too much  
Don't laugh at my jokes too much  
People will say we're in love!  
Don't sigh and gaze at me  
Your sighs are so like mine  
Your eyes mustn't glow like mine  
People will say we're in love!  
Don't start collecting things  
Give me my rose and my glove.  
Sweetheart they're suspecting things  
People will say we're in love.  
Don't praise my charm too much  
Don't look so vain with me  
Don't stand in the rain with me  
People will say we're in love!  
Don't take my arm too much  
Don't keep your hand in mine  
Your hand feels so grand in mine  
People will say we're in love!  
Don't dance all night with me  
Till the stars fade from above.  
They'll see it's alright with me  
People will say we're in love.


End file.
